


Babysitting at Baker Street

by amo_amare



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Gen, Kid Fic, improbable fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:49:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amo_amare/pseuds/amo_amare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a highly-qualified and competent physician, John is more than confident he can perform the simple task of keeping a human infant alive for an hour or so until a social worker can be found to take it off his hands. But can he rely on Sherlock to do the same for just 10 minutes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Babysitting at Baker Street

"But why is it _here_?" Sherlock was using the same tone of voice most people reserved for discussing mangy, flea-ridden stray dogs and other people's rubbish. As he spoke, he prodded at the infant carrier carefully with the toe of his boot. "Are there not government services designed for this purpose?"

John rescued the sleeping baby from his flatmate's prodding, picking up the carrier and setting it gingerly on the end of the sofa before replying. "Yes, Sherlock, you're quite right: there are indeed _services_ for looking after stray children. Unfortunately, there was a fire at one of the city's larger children's homes, and all available personnel are needed there: finding places for the children to sleep tonight, and tracking down relations to notify for the children who were only placed there temporarily. They'll send someone as soon as they can, but in the meantime, I told Lestrade we'd look after the baby here."

Sherlock scowled, still eyeing the sleeping bundle with suspicion. "Why on _earth_ did you do that? You have no experience with infants, and you _know_ how terrible you are in a crisis..."

John fought the urge to argue the point ( _no good in a crisis? What did he call their whole bloody living arrangement?!_ ), and responded reasonably: "Sherlock, for God's sake, I'm a _physician_! I think I can keep a sleeping infant alive for an hour or so until a social worker can be dispatched."

The end of his speech was cut off by the ringing of his phone. Quickly, John darted into the kitchen so he could take the call without waking the baby.

In his absence, Sherlock continued to glare at his flat's unwanted interloper. He was just starting to ponder whether or not a human infant might make a suitable substitute for a chimpanzee in his latest experiment, when the baby awoke with a violent start: its eyes opened, its limbs flailed, and it emitted a high-pitched whining sound accompanied by an animal-like snuffling issued through flared nostrils. Sherlock flinched briefly in terror, and considered immediate flight. But just as quickly as the spasm began: it subsided. The infant's eyes drifted shut, its neck relaxed, and its limbs curled peacefully at its side. One more soft snort, and it was sleeping soundly once again.

"Better stick with the chimp," Sherlock mumbled.

"What was that?" John asked, re-entering the room. He moved immediately to check on his sleeping charge. He fussed with the baby's blankets a bit, needlessly tucking and untucking things, and very obviously avoiding Sherlock's gaze.

An observation Sherlock picked up immediately. "What was the phone call?"

John steeled himself before looking up. "That was Lestrade. Seems it's going to be a bit more than hour before they can send someone."

Sherlock was stuck between smirking and visible distress: he did _not_ want this strange creature spending another instant in his flat, but the urge to tell John 'I told you so' was a competing interest. 

John saved him from choosing by speaking again.

"They might not be able to send someone 'til morning. Which means we'll need supplies: formula, a bottle, some nappies...Sherlock, I'll make you a list. Just hand it to a store employee, they should be able to find everything for you. I'll give you an extra 10 quid to bribe them with."

There was a pause while Sherlock processed this new information. "You want me to go shopping?"

"Yes." John willed himself to careful patience, taking a deep breath before answering. "I need you to run to the shop while I stay here with Nicholas."

Sherlock's response was quick and direct. "I don't do shopping."

Patience was harder to come by this time, but John did his best. "I know you don't like to do the shopping, but surely you can see this is a special case."

"I'm not sure I do." From anyone else, the response might have been sarcastic. Sherlock's voice, however, sounded genuinely puzzled. He thought about it a moment longer, then shook his head. "No, John, you're the one who does the shopping."

Another deep breath, this time accompanied by a long-suffering sigh. "Sherlock, I _know_ I'm the one who normally does the shopping, but I can't just leave the baby alone while I pop down to the shop, and..."

"Alone?" Sherlock interrupted John with a dismissive wave of his hand. "The child won't be alone! I'll be here."

John thought his eyes might pop out of his face. "You?"

In response, Sherlock adopted his talking-to-simpletons voice: "Yes: me. _I_ will stay here, while _you_ pop down to the shop."

There were a million reasons why Sherlock's suggestion was completely out of the question, chief among them the fact that John had caught him murmuring something about chimpanzees when he'd only left the man alone with the baby for three minutes while he took a phone call in the next room. Who knows what would happen if he left them for 10 minutes or more? He didn't like to think a human infant could be sold for parts, but if such a market existed, Sherlock would be the man with the connections.

And yet: he could see the stubborn set of his flatmate's jaw. Somehow, he had convinced himself that staying alone in the flat with someone else's child was preferable to navigating the vagueries of the corner Tesco. (And if John remembered correctly, they just might still have his picture posted behind the registers...) Sherlock's mind was clearly made up, and surely it wouldn't take John longer than 5, 10 minutes to get what he needed...

With a resigned sigh, John grabbed his keys and coat. "Don't take him out of the carrier: don't even touch him! Just sit in that chair, and I'll be back in 10 minutes."

Sherlock waved him off dismissively, settling in the chair with an inquisitive frown on his face.

John sprinted out the door.

*****

Ten minutes. How on earth had he convinced himself he could get in and out of a high street shop in 10 minutes?

For one thing, they didn't just sell infant formula, and bottles, and nappies. There were about a million different kinds of each: formula with and without soy, with added DHA, for newborns, preemies, and older infants. The nappies were sold by the weight of the child, and John hadn't even held the baby outside of its carrier: 15 pounds seemed a reasonable guess, but who could tell? 

He didn't even want to think about rubber nipples that most closely approximated "mother's own"...

Then there was the queue. Had these people never been shopping before? Did they not expect they would need to pay for their shopping? And what was all this fuss over the bloody loyalty card?

By the time he was free of the bloody place and climbing the steps to his flat, it had been close to half an hour since he'd left.

Over the pounding of his own heart, John can hear: violin music? Just leave it to Sherlock to forget about the baby and carry on with his own plans...

He burst through the door in a panic, ready to call his flatmate's name.

Sherlock sat in his appointed chair, violin tucked under his chin. The infant carrier had been moved so that it's sat on the table in front of him. He doesn't stop playing when John enters the flat.

For a moment, John just stood in the doorway, dumbfounded. The strains of the violin floated toward him. (A concerto by Bach; he can recognize it as one of Sherlock's favorites.) 

He started to worry that perhaps Sherlock had done something with the baby and he's using the noise of the violin to cover it up, but when he moved into the room to check, the baby was still in his carrier, chewing on his fist and staring up at Sherlock with wide eyes.

Sherlock reached the end of the piece, drawing out the final note of the concerto with an expert stroke of his bow. Then the room was silent.

Sherlock was the first to speak. "I knew you'd never get out of there in 10 minutes."

"No, I," John stumbled through his words. "I...everything was all right, then?"

When Sherlock answers, he's watching the baby, and not John. "Yes, yes, fine. He awoke soon after you left and was quite distressed--strange environment, I imagine. I remember something about infants enjoying music. Well, I had to do something to stop the awful noise."

"Huh." John just stared at Sherlock, who actually appeared to be _smiling_ at the baby.

There's an unfamiliar note of tenderness in his voice when he speaks. "I think I'll call him Johann."

John blinked. "Johann?"

"After Bach."

"Sherlock...you can't _call_ him anything! He's already got a name: it's Nicholas!"

Sherlock scowled. "Too pedestrian. I can't think of any noteworthy Nicholas's. Perhaps Nikola, after Tesla." John's brain was just working round to the implications of the current conversation, but Sherlock interrupted. "You did buy milk, didn't you? I imagine he's rather hungry."

**Author's Note:**

> This was borne out of that "pick a fandom, pick a trope" meme that's making the rounds right now. Being that this is basically fluffy crack!fic, I must ask the reader to overlook such concerns as where the baby came from, the legal implications of leaving it in the custody of two unqualified laypersons, and Why John couldn't just take the baby _with_ him when he went to the shop.
> 
> I thank you for your indulgence. :P


End file.
